Show Me What I'm Looking For
by sveltern
Summary: A possibly-drunk and very depressed Zelos visits Lloyd in the middle of the night, and things go downhill from there. AU. Zelos POV. Something like romance.


**This is pretty old, guys. It was kind of a shoot-off of an old AU of mine, one of which has gotten precious little attention. Oh well. Anyway, I figured I'd throw this up here, hope it isn't too confusing, haha. No guarantees, though.**

**Enjoy. c:**

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I reach his hotel just as the moon is rising above the canopy of trees and bushes. It's roughly midnight, I think, but it doesn't really matter; who could resist the great Zelos Wilder? Hah. Famous at 25, who even fucking cares. I've got money, my face is known, I'm a bachelor. The inn's clerk isn't gonna care if I storm in in a drunken rage and demand a certain person's room; not if I shove a few pieces of Gald into her pockets and run a hand up - or god forbid, down - her spine.

But much to my surprise - and pleasure - there is no clerk in sight, and the light in that back room is off.

Perfect.

I quickly make my way up the stairs, counting doors and marking room numbers, looking for my lucky little 212.

I get there within a couple of hushed minutes. Every single second, my heart rate has been growing more and more erratic, and for some reason it's decided that taken rest in my throat is a _great_ idea.

Soon I'm getting sick of green-on-cream wallpaper and fluorescent lighting, so instead of just standing in front of the door like an idiot, I raise my hand [shaking slightly, damnit] and knock.

I don't care how late it is, he'll be awake.

That's what I keep telling myself, every lost second, every hastening heartbeat. After a good five minutes, though, the door still hasn't opened.

Hesitantly I knock again, and this time I get a response - a muffled crash resounds from within the room, followed by a yell and another crash.

After a few moments of nothing but the lights buzzing overhead, the door swings open to reveal a very flustered - and very wet - Lloyd.

He stands and gapes for a moment before managing to find his voice. "Z-Zelos," he says, and even then, it sounds more like a weird gasp. "What're you -"

I shake my head. "Can I come in?"

He cocks an eyebrow, nodding all the same. He opens to door even wider and steps aside to let me in.

I'm standing in the main room, now, with the ugly couch and uglier wallpaper. It smells like old coffee and cigarettes, but I know Bud doesn't smoke.

Lloyd shuts the door; locks it, bolts it. Turns to face me, ushers me into the adjacent room when the bed is. Shuts that door, too. Smiles, frowns. Coughs.

He hair is soaking wet - first thing I notice. He's not wearing a shirt, either, but push that to the back of my mind. He's got on ripped jeans, old, and even from here I can tell he still smells like beer from the bar. Hard to believe he's been drinking; maybe he was just with Colette.

He purses his lips before asking, again, "Why are you here?"

I blink, turn. A quick glance at the alarm clock tells me it's closer to one. I find I can't quite speak, can't quite open my mouth wide enough to force the words out from between my teeth.

"I couldn't sleep," is what I finally settle with.

Lloyd doesn't look even remotely convinced, but he smiles anyway. "Did you want to sleep here, then?" he asks.

I glance over at the bed, sliding my hands into my pockets. I'm aware - keenly - of how I'm still dressed for work; white slacks, salmon button-up, the likes. I'm practically itching to get out of them, but I don't have anything to change into. And even if I did, I have no intentions of stripping down in front of dear old Lloyd here.

I turn back to said brunet; his arms are crossed, all his weight on his right leg. His hair is still dripping into his face.

I shrug, feign indifference. "Guess I could crash here, if that's alright."

Lloyd nods. "Sure. You want the bed or the couch?"

"...I'll leave the bed to you," I consent.

"Alright," he agrees, suddenly grinning. "You want any coffee?"

I have to admit, I'm more than a bit grateful for his carefree mood - though some part of me is pissed beyond reason, somehow still expecting him to... to read my mind, or something. Pick up on my sour mood, prod me for answers, act like he cares because god_damnit_ I wish someone did.

I tell him I'll take the coffee, sure. Regardless that it's 1 in the fucking morning, coffee still sounds good. I don't want to sleep.

He grins, slips out of the room. I stare forlornly at the green wall, something akin to a pout on my face. I step lightly over to the dully-colored wall, place my back flat against it, and sink to the floor.

I'm right next to the door; I wonder how long it'll take him to notice me.

For the next seven minutes and approximately 32 seconds, I find myself staring at the tiny black alarm clock by the bed. Its numbers glow neon, and after two digits change I find I haven't blinked or swallowed during the duration of either. What the hell, Zelos. Are you trying to melt your eyes out of your skull?

On the 33 second, Lloyd comes tromping through the door, two cups of coffee in hand. I can smell it from where I'm sitting - ah, sweet caffeine.

He stares blankly at the bed before suddenly cursing; as he turns, half a cup of coffee sloshes onto his sleeve - or lack thereof. A few drops rain down and splatter onto the back of my hand, leaving red-hot burns where they landed. I yelp and Lloyd looks down, amusement and annoyance mixed into one odd[ly flattering] expression on his face.

"Just what are you doing down there?" he wants to know.

I don't have an answer.

Not bothering to respond, I stand up and take the now-half-empty cup of coffee. It still smells amazing; maybe I've just gone into coffee withdrawal. Too much alcohol lately, not enough espresso.

Lloyd doesn't pry, amazingly enough. Just motions over to the nest and gives me a half-assed grin.

I decide to sit.

After a sip of his coffee and roughly 72 seconds, Lloyd finally begins to ask questions. "You never told me why you just randomly showed up here," he reminds me.

"Yeah, Bud," is what I reply with.

His brow creases and his breath smells like coffee. I love coffee.

"Do you have any plans to, then?" he asks. Way to break the moment there, Bud.

I stare at the source of the wonderfully bitter aroma that's now beginning to overpower the stench of cigarettes. I stare at the small, red pocks from the burns. I stare at Lloyd's lips.

"I'm not sure yet," I mumble. Take a drink of coffee; it tastes perfect. I think I'm becoming delusional.

Lloyd sighs. "Is there anything you need, Zelos? Or just a night away?"

A night away would be perfect. Just like this coffee. Lloyd, do you taste just as good? I bet you'd be even better. Better than perfect, now how would that work...

"Just a place to crash," I say. Watch him think over that, decipher all the hidden messages. He picks up on one.

"You know I'm leaving tomorrow, right?"

I bite my lip. I wish it was him. It'd feel less masochistic that way.

"I do, yeah." Wish I didn't.

After a few moments of silence, he just sighs. "Alright," he says. He sounds tired.

More wishes swing on exploding stars.

"Look," he starts again. "Maybe you should just get some sleep..."

He stands up, he stares. I stare. His eyes are coffee-brown. Dark espresso, shots of vanilla.

Suddenly the coffee in my hands is too hot for comfort.

"I don't want you to leave," I whisper. The alarm clock beeps in the background; 2 o'clock. I just wasted an hour of his time.

He doesn't know how to respond, says nothing. Just stands for a moment, deliberates; sets his mug down on a table I didn't notice before, tilts his head.

Finally he walks over, kneels; eye-to-eye, I wish it was chest-to-chest.

What to do now? What to do? My face is on fire, he needs to be closer.

"Are you... drunk?" he decides to ask. Might be a good place to start.

I cock an eyebrow. "If I am?"

Half-chuckle, half-wince.

"A lot more would make sense." Great answer, followed by a pause only broken by the faintly-buzzing lamp. "So, are you?"

"I'm... not sure. Am I?"

Chocolate-coffee eyes. Take back those vanilla shots. "I'll just take that as a yes," he decides. I want to know when he became so good at decision-making.

Ignore that last comment, it doesn't matter. Lloyd, don't you see? "I'm going to miss you when you go."

Poor Bud.

"R-really?" is his brilliant response.

How to reply? "Yeah," is the best answer. Best decision. See, I can make decisions, too. "Yeah, really."

His eyes are wide, my face is red.

"Is... that why you came here tonight, then?"

Alarm clock says 2:17.

"Maybe," I reply. "If I say yes, will you stay?"

Clenched jaw, I can see the muscles roll. I feel sorry for that coffee sitting on the table; it's going to grow old and cold and then nobody will want it anymore.

What a sad existence.

"I can't stay."

My world is shattered. Suddenly I hate coffee. Set it to the side, hope it doesn't spill. Stand up, avoid espresso-eyes.

Lloyd stands up, too. Bites his lip.

"You _know_ I can't stay, Zelos," he tries to tell me, and I almost believe it. I do, I do. But I don't want to.

We're a foot apart, his back to the wall and mind to the bloody alarm clock.

Ten inches, six, three, forehead to forehead. Shallow breathing, fingers on bare waist.

Lloyd still smells like coffee.

I take a deep breath, move to place my lips on the corner of his mouth. Fingers trace hipbones, ribs, sternum; play the xylophone for me. You'd make such beautiful music.

"I know you're leaving tomorrow," I whisper. He shudders, eyes flutter closed. "But I need you to make me forget for just... just one night."

Hands find their way to my shirt, untuck it; buttons are gone, and Bud and I are chest-to-chest. Heartbeat upon heartbeat.

"You really are drunk, aren't you?"

"Maybe," is my answer for the night. But my mouth is against his; no need for talking.

The alarm clock tells me it's 2:39 when my back hits the bed.

My last coherent thought for the night.


End file.
